


before i can breathe easy

by starrydrowse



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depressed Brian May, Depression, Fluff, Kinda, M/M, im projecting but it’s okay, roger is a good boyfriend, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 00:34:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20898719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrydrowse/pseuds/starrydrowse
Summary: It’s an agreement that Brian made with his therapist. They have a plan in place for those nights he leaves feeling worse than usual— for when he’s feeling lost in that dark place and he’s not quite sure if he trusts himself to be alone.*Or, Brian has a bad night. Roger does what he can.





	before i can breathe easy

**Author's Note:**

> i have so much to actually get done and yet this is what i did bc i had a bad day and i needed to project ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> sorry this isn't my poly!week fic hopefully that's coming soon it's getting close to being done but i have a really busy weekend coming up and i have three midterms next week so it might be late :( it'll be up soon though i promise!
> 
> title taken from the song heartlines by florence + the machine

By the time Roger makes it to the flat, he’s so cold he can’t feel his nose.

It takes him a couple tries to get the door unlocked with his shaking hands, and when he finally steps inside he’s relieved to find it relatively warm for once— Freddie must’ve actually remembered to close the windows. He kicks off his soggy shoes and shrugs off his coat, snow falling to the ground below him, melting into the mat. There’s snow falling from his hair too, every time he moves, and when he runs his hands through it to brush it off he finds bits of it frozen.

“Hey.”

Roger jumps, whirling around to see John in the living room, sitting cross-legged on one side of the coffee table, leaning back on his hands, an amused smirk on his face. He looks soft and cozy in pyjama pants and a worn sweatshirt, his long hair in a messy knot on the top of his head, a pencil tucked behind his ear. There’s textbooks and loose leaf covered in hastily scrawled notes strewn out on the coffee table in front of him. Freddie is on the floor on the opposite side of the table, pouring over his sketchbook, his laptop open on the table in front of him. Roger’s heart rate slowly returns to normal.

“Hey,” he says finally.

“How was class?” Freddie asks him without looking up from his sketchbook.

Roger sighs and rolls his eyes, making a retching noise as he turns to hang his coat in the closet. John snickers.

“That bad?” Freddie chuckles.

“I mean, it was biochem,” Roger mutters. When he turns back around he finally catches sight of Brian. His heart sinks.

He’s so still Roger hadn’t noticed him at first; curled up in the corner of the couch, feet tucked up under him and a fleece blanket thrown over his shoulders. His nose is a little pink, his skin a little blotchy but still _pale_, and it makes the circles under his eyes seem even darker than usual. His laptop is propped open on his knees but Roger can see that the screen is blank. 

Roger shoots John a worried glance, and John just shakes his head. As used to the routine as he’s gotten, it still makes Roger’s stomach turn, anxiety clawing its way into his throat. 

Thursdays are Brian’s therapy days. He’s been going since before Roger even knew him. He has appointments every week at 5:00 after his Astronomy seminar and it helps him; it helps him work through what he’s feeling and helps him deal with things in healthly and productive ways and it more or less keeps him from falling into that dark and lonely place— that place that he’d become so used to, that he’d dug himself out of time and time again. It’s helpful and it’s good but it’s exhausting work— digging into his thoughts and his feelings and where they all come from, opening that box he keeps locked the other 167 hours of the week— and most Thursdays he trudges home from his appointment tired and drained.

Those days— the normal days, where he’d gotten somewhere and he’d made some progress and he’d come home worn out and a little sad and usually with a bit of a headache— he gets changed and he has some dinner and he goes to bed pretty early, and when he wakes up in the morning he feels more or less like himself again. He needs the time to process things on his own, to work through everything and make sense of it, and the boys give it to him, easily.

Roger has a night class on Thursdays, which means he always gets home a few hours after Brian. Over time, he’s gotten used to coming back to find Brian already tucked into bed, under the covers, more often than not already asleep. And Roger knows he needs his space and so he gives it to him; he goes in and checks on him and if he’s still awake Roger will ask him if he wants to talk about it. If he does, Roger will crawl under the covers with him and listen for as long as Brian needs him to, hold him if that’s what he wants— wrap his arms around him and pet his hair andt let him vent or cry or just be quiet and fall asleep in his arms. If he doesn’t, Roger will give him a kiss, as long as he says it’s okay, and then he’ll leave him alone to rest. It’s good and it’s healthy and it’s become part of their routine. It’s the nights that Roger gets home to find Brian still up that are usually worse.

It’s an agreement that Brian made with his therapist. They have a plan in place for those nights he leaves feeling worse than usual— for when he’s feeling lost in that dark place and he’s not quite sure if he trusts himself to be alone, doesn’t know if he can spend the night in bed on his own without risking falling back into that cycle.

He doesn’t have to tell any of them— he doesn’t have to talk at all, if he doesn’t want to— he just comes home and gets changed and he stays with them out on the couch in the living room, lets them keep him company so he isn’t alone. Freddie and John will stay with him, studying or watching TV or playing board games while Brian curls up in his spot on the end of the couch and gets lost in his thoughts. He stays with them and he resists the urge to isolate himself and it keeps him grounded and keeps him safe until he starts to feel more like himself again.

Looking at him now, pale and small and exhausted, makes Roger’s heart ache painfully. He swallows. _One thing at a time_, he thinks, trying to quell the anxious knot in the pit of his stomach.

“Have you guys already eaten?” he asks finally, wandering into the kitchen and opening the fridge. He glances up when he sees that John has followed him.

“There’s leftover eggs and bacon on the bottom shelf,” John tells him, leaning back against the countertop. Roger searches his face.

“Is he okay?” he asks quietly.

John just shrugs a little, and Roger nods. 

John looks at him for a moment, before he pushes himself up and grabs the plate of leftovers from Roger’s hands. “Go get changed, I’ll heat it up for you.”

Roger smiles at him and smacks a kiss to his cheek, making him giggle, before heading to his bedroom.

When he returns to the kitchen, having changed into a pair of sweats and a crewneck, John is just setting his plate down on the table.

“Thanks Deaky.”

John just nods, taking a seat with Roger at the table as Roger starts to eat as quickly as he can. He chats with John idly but he’s distracted, worried about his boyfriend, and as soon as he’s done he throws his dishes in the sink, before walking quietly back out into the living room. This time, Brian does look up when he Roger enters the room, and he looks confused for a moment, like he’s only just realizing that Roger is back. Roger smiles at him softly, trying his best not to let the worry show on his face.

Freddie has since abandoned his schoolwork and has turned on some trashy TV show instead, watching from the floor, leaned back against the couch, and John takes a seat next to him. Brian’s eyes track Roger as he gingerly steps over John and Freddie’s legs to join him on the couch.

“Hey,” Roger says softly, sitting beside him carefully, making sure he’s not too close, not invading his space. After a moment, Brian gives him a small smile that doesn’t even come close to meeting his eyes. 

He looks tired and sad and small, his hair held back in an unruly bun by a blue velvet scrunchie he’d long since stolen from Freddie, all dark circles under red-rimmed eyes, and Roger wants desperately to be able to _do_ something— something to at least _help_, to make things just a _little_ easier, make him feel just a _little_ less sad— he aches to just pull every single bit of pain and hurt out of him and stomp it under his heel; aches to just snap his fingers and make it all go away.

But he _can’t_ and he _knows_ that he can’t, and so he just asks quietly, “Can I touch you?”

Brian nods and Roger shifts closer, pulling his feet up under him, leaning into Brian’s side. He rests his head on Brian’s shoulder, cuddling into him, taking Brian’s hand in his and squeezing it tight, and after a minute Brian squeezes back and Roger thinks maybe he feels some of the tension leaving Brian’s shoulders. It loosens the knot in his chest, just a little.

Brian doesn’t say anything, so Roger settles in and watches the show with John and Freddie. He holds Brian’s hand, rests his fingertips on Brian’s wrist and feels the slow and steady beating of his pulse, counts his even breaths, and reminds himself that Brian is alive. 

If this is all he can do to help him, he’ll do it every day of his life, he thinks. He can wait for Brian to start feeling like himself again. He can sit with him and he can hold his hand and he can wait.

He’ll give him all the time in the world if he has to.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on my [tumblr](https://starrydrowse.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
